


Blackout

by untilthenightturnsred



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilthenightturnsred/pseuds/untilthenightturnsred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of an unbearable heat wave in Hell's Kitchen, Claire's power goes out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blackout

Claire flung herself onto her bed, exhausted, sweating and utterly done after working eighteen hours straight. The walk home from the hospital had been stifling. The heat wave hitting Hell’s Kitchen over the last week made working double shifts look good, what with dependable air conditioning and working elevators and refrigerated food. Can’t say the same for my apartment, she thought to herself as she sat up to strip off her scrubs and crank up the AC of her window unit.

She walked into her living room and flipped on the TV, scanning the local news for any word, any sign. Instead, it was all bad weather puns — HOT WEATHER HELL, COOKING IN HELL’S KITCHEN, IS THIS HELL, OR HELL'S KITCHEN? — anything to take attention away from the actual hotbed of crime that was tearing through the city. That’d be a bad pun, too, she knew, but a bit more honest.

As the temperature went up, so too did the hours she spent stitching up victims of bar brawls, thefts, assaults... It felt never-ending, a cycle of blood and sweat and pain that she could only piece back together, never fix.

Certain parts of Hell’s Kitchen were always well lit. Cool. Safe. Where you couldn’t smell the garbage left on the side of the road, thanks to, she imagined, the violently overwhelming scent of corruption. Claire laughed a little. 

Her side of town wasn’t quite like that. Abandoned by the cops on the hottest days of summer, garbage left rotting outside since the city couldn’t afford to remove it. Not in her part of Hell’s Kitchen.

The power went out sometimes, too. Her new neighbor said they'd been having rolling blackouts for a while now. Last time it had gone out all night. She’d been working in the ER, sewing up cuts gifted by looters busting open windows.

She’d arrived home the next morning, greeted by the oppressive heat and the fear of those in the apartment building, abandoned by the government of Hell’s Kitchen in order to power up and protect the homes of the rich. They’d been lucky, but the building over had a few break-ins. TVs, jewellery, and appliances stolen — thankfully no one had been killed. Hadn’t been like that everywhere, she knew. The tabloids couldn't get enough of the blood above the fold.

Still, she’d been comforted by the fact that he was out there. Matt was gonna listen to the cries for help, even if he wasn’t going to stop by her place anymore. Hadn’t since that time they met for coffee. His new suit must be keeping him safe. Or he'd found someone new to patch him up.

But he was still out there, she knew. She knew that, knew he was still out there, protecting the city and putting himself in danger. She heard the stories in the ER. 'Daredevil' was whispered and screamed in the ward, in the curses and thanks of so many who were brought in.

Seemed like he’d been erased from the news these days — just another sign of the corruption rampant in his beloved city, Claire figured — but sometimes when she was on a break, she’d scan blogs and Twitter. He’d be there, people sharing their Daredevil sightings, their stories of him saving the day, their blurry photos. She could see him in them. She wondered how no one else could, how no one even guessed it was Matt Murdock.

She walked back over to the window to stand in front of her AC, letting the cool air blow over her. She couldn’t remember a summer like this. Claire closed her eyes and wondered what it would be like to be one of the power brokers of the city, ferried from an office to a fancy restaurant to a penthouse apartment, never stepping outside into the sweltering heat. Never seeing what she saw, night after night.

Might be nice. Might have to give up your soul, sure, but it might be nice to not have to worry and sweat and struggle all the damn time.

Claire opened her eyes. A moment later, rows of apartment buildings in her line of sight went dark. The power outage rolled in. Blackout. She felt her building shake the minute the lights went out and the air sputtered to a stop. Her city, her Hell's Kitchen, had plunged into darkness.

“You’ve got to be goddamn kidding me,” she muttered. Already, she could see some of her better-prepared neighbors lighting candles and turning on flashlights. All part of the routine by now. 

She fumbled around her apartment, found her cell phone. Called the hospital, offered to come in. Almost begged. But no. They’d call if they needed her. Better that she rest up and charge her phone so she could be useful if, when, the moment arose.

She plugged in her phone to her computer, stealing its last bit of power. The job came first, before whatever shit she would have binged on to get through the night. She’d rather be in, working, than sitting alone at home. How could she rest in total darkness? She couldn’t. Not since...

When it got dark, that’s when she’d remember. More than remember it. It’d come back, alive, the smells and the way her heart beat, the fear and the adrenaline, it would all rush back. The utter confidence that he’d come around and that small part of her that knew he was still just a man and he might fail her. He'd made it, but it didn't erase all that had happened before. That the darkness brought back.

She shook her head, attempting to physically remove the thoughts from her mind. Instead, it jarred a thankfully more practical memory. When her neighbour Raul had moved out a few months ago, he’d left her a couple things — a painting he’d made for her, a half-filled toolkit, and, blessedly, a portable radio. She rummaged through her closet and yanked out the radio.

She turned it on. It was on an oldies station, playing Rock Around the Clock. Felt apt, she figured, so she left it on. 

She walked over to the door, making sure it was triple locked. It was. As always. She didn’t forget these days. Didn’t open it for almost anyone either. And then she heard it. Over the static change of songs, she heard a knock. 

She felt the blood rush from her face. She didn’t want to answer. Maybe it was that new neighbor. Couldn’t remember his name. Maybe it was Matt. Maybe it was another goddamn mobster looking to break her down. 

She walked over to her cell phone, ready to call the cops. Then she saw the missed call.

Matt.

Matt was outside her door. Must be. He needed her. 

She ran over to the door and undid the locks. Matt was there. 

“Claire,” he said. “Just — just wanted to check in.”

She saw his bag. He hadn’t been out yet. He’d — he’d brought his uniform, costume, whatever it was, in a bag. He wasn’t injured. He was fine. He was just fine, she repeated to herself. 

She couldn’t even say hello. Couldn't say his name, couldn't say anything at all. The relief that he wasn’t bleeding out on her floor, the sight of him in workout clothes, knowing his Daredevil outfit was folded up nicely inside the gym bag, was too much. Everything lately had been too much. She didn’t know what else to do, so she laughed, doubling over, tears in her eyes.

He awkwardly shifted on his feet. Unsure what she meant. If he’d done the wrong thing. She recovered quickly, though, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. 

“Thank you,” she said. “Come on in.”

She closed the door behind them. “Sorry for laughing — it’s just, just, the blackout and your bag and I just got home from work…. And I haven’t seen you for months.”

“I’ve been around.”  
“I know, Murdock. I hear the stories. I haven’t seen you though.”  
“My, uh, my gym’s kind of around here. I’ve checked around when the power’s gone out before.”  
“Oh. Probably was at the hospital.”  
“Yeah. Could tell you were here, this time. That’s why I called. I — I can tell it was a bad move. Sorry.”

She raised her eyes to look at him again. She hated those moments she could mistake him for any other man. Like that day in his suit. And now, in his regular guy gym clothes, just hinting at the scars and the muscles beneath.

She repeated her mantra about him. This is the costume. This is his façade. Not Daredevil. This.

“No, sorry, it’s not that.” She couldn’t quite say what it was. There they were, in the dark. That seemed a good place to start.

“I’m not so used to the dark."

“Welcome to my world,” he said with a wry smile.

She laughed, but she could feel the distance between them — he must, too, right?

“Sorry it’s so hot,” she said, reaching for words as the sound of Dream Lover kept breaking through the silence.

“Can’t be helped, I guess. Not in this part of town. Better than my gym, though. Thought I’d steal the last bit of your air conditioning before I… before I go out.”

“You haven’t been getting too hurt, have you?" she said quickly. "The outfit’s working?” She gestured to his bag, realizing how unnecessary that act was. How she’d forgotten what it was like to be around him. 

“Yeah. Yeah, just some bruises lately. Gets kind of bad on nights like this. But haven't needed stitches lately.” He shifted. Maybe he heard something, she wondered, someone out there who really needed him. 

He walked over to the door, and then turned. “I…I wasn’t going to call you. I know the deal. Where we stand. And that I can call you when I need you. I just missed you. Sorry for being such a selfish bastard."

She could hear Otis Redding in the background. A static-infused version of These Arms of Mine. She felt her heart break a little. She missed him — missed the unpredictability, the sly jokes, the feeling of his skin under her fingers.

Maybe it was the heat. She’d blame it on that later. She’d liken it to a blackout.

She moved into the space he'd left between them. Wrapped him in a kiss, long and breathless. He’d jumped when she grabbed him. She caught him unaware, guard down. Then his instincts took hold and he clung to her. The heat was unbearable. He wanted to be closer. She let him.

He slipped her shirt off. His stuck to his skin, the sweat almost refusing to let it go. She laughed as she helped him out of it. And then pulled their bodies close. She felt delirious from the heat, from his heat. He kissed her neck, sensing every shift in her breathing, as her fingers raked down his back. 

Claire pulled him onto the couch. It was agony, the heat and the wanting. One had to go. She could hear the radio — it seemed so far away as his hands traced her body — playing That’s Where It’s At by Sam Cooke. “Just stay one minute more. That’s where it’s at,” the song echoed. 

Hell’s Kitchen needed Daredevil tonight. She knew that. But she wanted Matt, just for one minute more. And then she’d let him go, back into the night. But not until the blackout ended.


End file.
